Phantasma #1

Such intensively uneasy dreams to wake up from on a sunny Saturday morning.
Similar to lead, these unconscious stimulations weigh on my chest; images and feelings that are too raw and too strong to possibly be true. But they stay with me and grind at my bones like malicious teeth.

And again I was running back and forth, moving constantly as if I may just explode if I were to stay still. I am tired.

I cannot fathom what causes these dreams. They aren’t nightmares; not as terrifying as one may expect nightmares to be, but these dreams make me so uneasy I wake up close to tears, yelling.

It has been said that our dreams are amalgamations of the repressed emotions and thoughts we harbour deep in our unconscious.
If so, I would not like to be present to see the absolute filth that comes out of mine. I am so exhausted of this drama. I keep going back, I know, but I really am tired.

I'm looking for release, simple and true, of any sort. Just for an hour or so, every few days. Take me away, until I can leave on my own.
Let me dance, let me drink, let me scream.
Make me.

A certain very amusing somebody I talk to regularly reminded me of a modern day Mercutio, who instead of Romeo, seems to be quite smitten.

Romeo: I dreamt a dream tonight
Mercutio: and so did I.
Romeo: And what was yours?
Mercutio: That dreamer’s often lie.

I leave my skin, just for a while, I return fresh like a sapling. But as soon as the night hits my back, I lose ground.

Whatever it is, I'm looking to be taken away, whisked away, or dragged even.
I don’t think I need happiness.
I think I just need constant change.